I get tired of shit a lot, but the shit I get tired of most is censoring myself on Facebook.
See, I joined Facebook back in the days when you had to have a .edu college email address to join. I wasn't actually a college student, but I took college classes and I wanted to impress this chick I had the hots for (ok, so it was more like platonic lesbo craving for affection) who had a Facebook account under similar circumstances. So I got meself a Facebook account, and it was pretty boring at first because most of my high school friends couldn't have one, but then Facebook did that thing where it ripped a hole in the belly of the then-muffintop monster known as Myspace and sucked all of those young folks out of its dripping guts and then similar things to older folks and folks in nursing homes and, my favorite, folks who make hiring decisions.
Yeah. Thanks Facebook.
Now I hesitate to even drop the f-bomb in my Facebook statuses. Which is kind of silly when you consider that I still left my somewhat questionable poems up, particularly that one about the rape of Persephone and birds pooing on everything.
But, what I mean to say is, Facebook being a literal tool for people to "spy" on me in my less professional moments takes the fun out of Facebook. Yay! It has Farmville! But wait! You better not be playing Farmville while you're being bored out of your mind working behind the front desk of the library. Your boss will get pissed.
People like to have fun. Taking the place where they like to share their fun with their friends and turning into some kind of glass house into which potential employers can voyeur-stare? Not fun any more.
Please, someone make a replacement for Facebook. Someone who understands that professionals deserve to have fun, too. Professionals have the right to say "fuck" after hours. Professionals can do their fucking professional jobs, then roll off their pantyhose, stick their feet into big fuzzy fuck-off slippers, and get shitfaced.
But, anyway. What I wanted to do today, on Facebook, was to make the following comment on a friend's photograph of two half-gallon jugs of chocolate milk, side by side, on a desk:
"That shit needs to go in the refrigerator."
And then I couldn't, because I was struck with this sudden, paralyzing fear that I'd apply for an internship, and some dude would go look at my Facebook, which has privacy settings up to my ears but still isn't enough to really protect anything, and be all, "This chick isn't professional enough about chocolate milk. Moving on."
Facebook, please be fun again. I'm tired of being serious on you all the time.